Chapter 34 Chapter Thirty-Four: Ashes of a Name

Chapter 34 Chapter Thirty-Four: Ashes of a Name
Alina had not dismounted.
She sat rigid on her horse at the rear of the envoy, a single gloved hand clenched around the reins as if the act of holding still was the only thing keeping her from unraveling. Her jaw was tight, her posture immaculate, as if perfect composure could erase the blood they all knew had been spilled. The other riders gave her a wide berth now. Some out of respect. Others out of discomfort.
Sera approached slowly, her steps soundless on the path. The blood on her hands had dried, but her presence still carried its weight. Her braid shifted in the wind, the sigil still glowing faintly at the base of her throat.
None moved to stop her. None dared.
Alina dismounted only when Sera was close enough to touch. Her boots hit the stone with a quiet finality. Her eyes darted behind Sera, to where Rhazien stood watching at the edge of the court, motionless as stone. The sight of him—towering, calm, blood still drying on his claws—made her pale.
"He won’t hurt you," Sera said quietly. "Come. I want you to meet him."
Alina’s eyes snapped to her, incredulous. "He killed a man with his bare hands not one hundred feet from me. Our father, Sera. You’re sure he won’t hurt me?"
Sera didn’t flinch. "Only if you give him reason to."
Behind them, Rhazien’s mouth curled slightly. A smirk—not cruel, but amused. He was listening, even from across the courtyard.
Alina hesitated, one hand still on the reins. Then she gave a shallow nod, handed them off to a silent guard, and followed.
They walked in silence across the courtyard. When they reached him, Rhazien’s gaze flicked once to the girl beside Sera, then back to his mate.
"This is my sister," Sera said. "She is not a threat."
Rhazien gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on Alina a moment longer than necessary. "She may walk the court. For now."
Alina gave a tight, shallow bow—just enough to be polite. Her posture was tense, and her eyes didn’t quite meet his.
Sera turned to her sister. "I want a few hours with her. Just the two of us."
She faced the gathered council next—not because she needed their approval, but because she wanted them to believe she cared to ask.
"I request a temporary leave from court duties to speak with my blood."
The murmurs began, uncertain and hesitant. Some nodded. One or two shifted uncomfortably. A younger noble leaned toward an elder, whispering beneath their breath.
She waited.
Then added, flatly, "Your approval is appreciated. But not required."
The murmurs died instantly.
And with that, she turned her back on them and walked away—her sister at her side, and the council left wondering whether they’d just been humored, or dismissed. Perhaps both.
And in it, all the years between them came rushing back.
They walked in silence through the gardens beyond the court—quiet trails laced with sun-dappled moss and old stone paths winding between dragon-scale trees. Sera led her sister to a shaded bench carved into the trunk of an ancient root, half-swallowed by the wild growth of the realm.
It was the first place she had felt peace here.
And it felt fitting to let her sister see it.
Alina glanced around, visibly softening for the first time since arriving. Her fingers brushed one of the low branches, eyes wide. "This place doesn’t feel like any court I’ve ever known."
"It isn’t," Sera said. "It’s mine."
Alina’s lips twitched. "What’s it like?"
Sera tilted her head. "Living here?"
Alina shook her head slowly. "No. Being with him. A dragon. Loving one. Being loved by one."
Sera’s brows lifted in surprise, then softened into something warmer. For a moment, her lips parted as if to answer, but nothing came out.
Because she realized—truly, wholly—that she did love him. That she hadn’t just fallen into him, hadn’t merely surrendered to heat, instinct, or survival. She loved him.
She loved him for what he was. For what he gave her. For who she had become in his fire.
And the weight of that truth filled her chest with something that felt like peace.
"Terrifying," she said finally. "And beautiful. Fierce. Constant. Like standing too close to a storm and realizing the lightning loves you. It changes you."
Alina blinked. "Is it hard?"
"Every day," Sera said. "But not in the way I expected. He doesn't make it hard to be his. He makes it hard to remember what it felt like not to be."
Alina snorted. "You always were dramatic."
"You asked." Sera stood and motioned her to follow. "Come. I want to show you something."
They walked through a smaller passage veiled with ivy, past the gardens and up the stairs to the private wing of the keep. Sera said nothing as she opened the door to her bedchamber and stepped aside to let Alina enter.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the air shifted—warmer, richer, tinged with the faint scent of spice and smoke. Amber light spilled through high, narrow windows, gilding everything in gold.
And in the center of it all: the nest.
Gold coins, furs, pillows, silks—layered and molded into a sprawling structure that looked more like a sanctuary than a bed. It filled the room with decadent softness, the textures glowing beneath the filtered light.
Alina froze. Her breath caught. "This is your bed?"
Sera nodded. "He built it for me. Said if I was going to stay, I deserved somewhere worthy to rest."
Alina stepped forward, running her hand across the rim of the nest. "This looks like something out of a fairytale."
She paused.
"Except for the part where you rule beside a monster."
Sera’s smile didn’t fade. "He’s only a monster when he has to be."
Alina looked back at her, eyes wide. "I think I envy you. Just a little."
Sera opened her mouth to laugh, but instead, a pause settled between them. She looked at the nest again, at the curve of it molded by claw and care. At the shadows caught in the folds of silk, the impression of his body beside hers.
A beat. Then Sera’s grin returned, sharper this time. "Don’t. You’d never survive it."
Alina grinned despite herself. "No. I'd cry the first time he growled. And throw a shoe. Probably at his head."
Sera snorted. "And he'd catch it midair, look you dead in the eye, and set it on fire just to make a point."
Alina laughed. "Then scold me for scuffing the floor with my ashes."
"And demand tribute for the offense."
"In gold?"
"In silence," Sera deadpanned.
They both burst out laughing.
They laughed then—actual, unguarded laughter that filled the room like sunlight.
Alina collapsed backward into the edge of the nest, kicking off her boots like she used to when they were children sneaking away from lessons. Sera dropped beside her a moment later, the silk of her gown pooling around her legs as she leaned back on her hands.
They talked about nonsense after that. Silly things. The way dragonkin braid their hair with real gemstones. How one of the guards was definitely too pretty for his post—and that if Alina stayed another day, she might be tempted to flirt just to see what he’d do. Sera confessed Rhazien hated wearing anything on his feet and growled if she even suggested it, calling shoes 'a leash for dragons.' Alina admitted she'd once tried to curse one of their tutors and accidentally gave him hiccups for a week, then tried again and turned his hair green for a month.
They speculated whether dragons could purr, debated the court gossip, and laughed over how scandalized the nobles had looked when Sera walked barefoot into her first council meeting.
For a moment, their laughter rewrote history. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.
They laughed until their sides hurt.
When the laughter faded, they stayed like that a while—shoulders brushing, breaths slow, the silence no longer strained but easy. It felt like finding a single whole note in a symphony of chaos.
For a long while, neither of them moved. The hush around them wasn’t awkward—it was a kind of sacred. Like time had slowed, just for them.
Alina broke it first, her voice a fragile thread. "I thought you were dead. When he took you. When the skies stopped burning, and he never came back for the rest of us—I thought he’d broken you. Or buried you."
Sera’s breath hitched. She looked ahead at the shadows on the far wall. "He didn’t. Not even close."
Alina’s hand slipped over hers. "You survived."
"No," Sera said quietly. "I lived. There's a difference."
Alina turned her head slightly. "Do you think it could’ve been different? If we’d been born in another time?"
Sera gave a faint, tired smile. "If we had been, I doubt either of us would’ve been strong enough to survive it."
Alina nodded slowly. "Still. I’m glad I got this. Even if it’s only today."
Sera looked at her, the shape of that moment folding itself into memory. "Then let’s make it count." 
And for a moment—just a fleeting, impossible moment—they were girls again. Not daughters of a king. Not survivors of betrayal. Not symbols of a broken court or a rising realm.
Just sisters. Laughing in the nest of a dragon.
Eventually, the moment faded. Laughter quieted. The light shifted.
Sera stood first, brushing off the folds of her gown and glancing toward the windows, where the sun had crept lower in the sky.
"Come on," she said softly. "They’ll be waiting."
Alina rose beside her, slower this time, her gaze lingering on the nest one last time before she followed. They didn’t speak as they left the chamber, retracing their steps through the winding halls and ivy-veiled passageways. The warmth of the room clung to them as they moved.
By the time they returned to the front of the keep, the riding party had reassembled. Rhazien stood where she’d left him—arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his eyes found hers immediately. He hadn’t moved, not even a step, but something in the set of his shoulders softened when he saw her.
The court watched too, but quieter now. As if something had shifted that they couldn’t name—an understanding or a reckoning, perhaps. The whispers had faded into the hush of uncertainty, or awe.
Sera’s pace didn’t falter. Her steps were steady, her face calm, but her eyes shimmered with the weight of everything that had just passed.
Alina walked just behind her. And for once, she didn’t look afraid. Her chin was lifted. Her stride matched her sister’s. The girl who had entered this keep wide-eyed and tense now moved like someone who had been allowed—for just a moment—to see what freedom felt like.
They reached the edge of the courtyard, where Alina’s horse waited among the others. A guard stood ready, reins in hand, but backed off as the sisters approached.
Sera took the reins gently and held them out, then looked at her sister.
"Before you go..."
A long silence followed. Then, Sera reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a pendant. The last trinket of their mother, long hidden in the seam of her old bodice. She placed it in her sister’s hand.
“Take it. I don’t need it anymore.”
Tears welled, but Alina didn’t let them fall. She only looked down at the pendant, her thumb brushing over the worn silver surface as if it might still hold warmth from their mother’s skin.
“I used to think you’d hate me forever,” she whispered.
“I did,” Sera replied. “But I don’t anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve stopped needing you to be someone you never had the chance to become.”
Sera turned.
Her hand lingered on Alina’s for a moment longer. A squeeze. A silent thank you. A final tether.
“I won’t see you again.”
“I know.”
Alina stepped into the stirrup and mounted; the pendant still clutched in her hand. She didn’t tuck it away. She didn’t speak again.
Their eyes met one last time.
Then Sera walked away without looking back.
She felt Rhazien step closer the moment Alina turned her horse toward the road. He said nothing, but his presence at her side grounded her. Warm. Solid. Unyielding.
His hand brushed the small of her back, just once—a silent gesture that said he’d been watching, and he understood.
Behind her, the sound of hooves began to fade.
Sera didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.
And this time, no part of her stayed behind.
She no longer bore her father’s name.
Only the one she had claimed for herself.